


Look Where You Click

by JamFace



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamFace/pseuds/JamFace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets far too excited typing up his latest blog entry, resulting in a heated and awkward morning at 221B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look Where You Click

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly didn't know what to call this. I'm just generating random prompts and trying to do something with them. Decided to post this one. Apologies, I don't really write any type of smut often, but I TRIED AND THEREFORE NO ONE SHOULD CRITICIZE ME.  
> -not even anything I'll just shut up now-  
> Enjoy if convenient. If inconvenient than enjoy anyway.

John was becoming quite proud of how much his typing has been improving. The slow and steady one-fingered clicks were now a symphony of continuous clicking keys, while still slow, that echoed throughout the quiet flat. Taking another sip from his morning tea, John searched for the correct way to word through Sherlock’s deductions made in the case they had finished last night. When the words finally came to him, he set his mug down slightly harder than he intended to and went back to typing up his next blog entry.   
  
_‘For a moment, Sherlock’s intelligence failed him and I thought we were done for, we were caught. But obviously, since I’m typing this, we weren’t.’_

_Obviously_. He’s starting to sound like Sherlock.   
  
_‘Getting a hold of his wits, Sherlock searched for an escape. According to him, the room “clearly” had a hidden door somewhere, and as soon as he began to explain his reasoning in his dark voice, becoming increasingly quieter as the footsteps neared, it was clear as to where the door was concealed.’_  
  
A grin had crept across John’s face as he recalled each barely audible word, a surge of excitement running through him at remembering the danger the case had put them in. His fingers wanted to type faster with the new found energy, but had to slow once he noticed they were not typing anything actually readable. He doubted his readers would be able to decipher what ‘ _heduskto nthek bokoshelff_ ’ meant. Except maybe the strange teenage girls that have taken a liking to his blog. Most of their comments consist of what looked like the result of smashing their heads against the keyboard.   
  
He deleted most of the text, this time typing at his usual pace to make sure it made sense. But the excitement didn’t disappear. His breathing became heavy, his descriptions of Sherlock’s deductions becoming more detailed. His fingers froze. He shifted in his chair. He swallowed loudly. Glancing down, a heat rose to his face and neck as he noticed how much he was straining against his trousers. He sighed and rubbed his forehead with one hand. With the other, he quickly saved the blog entry as a draft and shut his laptop.   
  
He stared across the room and down the hall to Sherlock’s door, listening for any sounds to indicate he was awake. None came. Slowly, he undid his trousers and pulled his cock out of its confinement. Taking one last glance at Sherlock’s door, he closed his eyes and started stroking himself, slowly at first but increasingly quicker at thought of Sherlock waking up, twisting his hand on the upward strokes. John’s mind wandered back to the night before, thinking about Sherlock’s words being whispered into his ear, Sherlock’s warm breath heating his skin, already hot and sweaty from running up and down the streets of London.   
  
John’s hands moved faster, his jaw clenched, trying to prevent any noises from escaping his mouth. He dragged his thumb over the head of his cock, smearing the pre-cum over the glands and down the shaft, following his fingers’ movements. He could feel a bead of sweat sliding down his neck and he instantly thought of Sherlock’s tongue catching it, following it’s track back up to his chin, maybe nipping playfully at his skin. He couldn’t stop a small groan from slipping past his lips. He was soon over the edge, trembling slightly, releasing into his own hand.   
  
He sat spent for only a second before moving to clean himself up, destroy all evidence. He decided to make himself another cup of tea, his first cup now cold and neglected. From the kitchen, he could hear a door open and turned to see his flatmate stepping from his room clad in his bed sheets.   
  
“Mornin’.”  
  
Sherlock’s half-lidded eyes studied John for a moment before a smirk appeared on his sunken face, his cheekbones made more angular from his refusal to eat the past few days.   
  
“Shouldn’t post blogs without first finishing them.”  
  
John stared wide eyed at him. Sherlock’s smirk widened. He grabbed a bagel off the table and left for the living room, John’s eyes following him. Finally remembering to breathe, John grabbed his mug and silently crossed the room to his laptop, opening it and deleting the post, missing the comment already made on it.   
  
_‘Come in here, I may give you a hand with that. -SH’_


End file.
